To Dream
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: Even the most dedicated officer can have his moments of doubt...Written for the 2013 Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge.


_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Written for the 2013 Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge.

* * *

The two little boats were rocking in the shade, tied to the small pier that jutted out from the garden. Shafts of afternoon sunshine sifted through the overhanging branches of the willows, emerging at last to glitter and dance on the river. The air was warm and fragrant, a lark was singing in a nearby meadow, and Nigel and Kay were laughing, their childish faces bright and carefree.

Yes, indeed, a perfect summer's day...

At least, it had been perfect until a few minutes ago. Three little boats had been sailing along briskly in the breeze, and then it happened. Nigel's boat accidentally bumped up against Roddy's - no more than a nudge, really - and Roddy's little boat promptly tipped over and sank. Roddy was heartbroken, and his brother and sister were laughing, just as if nothing had happened!

The race had been Nigel's idea, of course, and the boats had been constructed according to Nigel's design. But Roddy hadn't been satisfied with the plain lines of his little craft, and he'd added an extra mast to the thing, which unfortunately made the boat top-heavy and liable to sink at the least jostling. Which of course it did.

Roddy's awareness of his own folly did nothing to make him feel better about the loss of his boat. A few sniffles became sobs, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He hunched his shoulders and gazed out over the water, unheeding of an iridescent dragonfly skimming across the surface only a few feet away. A shadow seemed to have passed over the sun, and everything was gloomy and dark.

Then Nigel noticed that his little brother was sunk in misery, and he sat down beside Roddy on the pier. He nudged Roddy's shoulder with his own and said in a bracing tone, "Chin up! You've had a rough go, my lad, and your boat's at the bottom of the river, but what of it? We'll build another one straight away...bigger and better, too."

"Of course," said Kay, plopping herself down on the other side of Roddy. She slipped her arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. "And I'll paint it for you, shall I?"

Roddy nodded, rubbing his nose with his sleeve...why was it that a fellow's handkerchief never seemed to be around when he needed it? Then he looked up at his brother. "Bigger? And better? And might it have a pirate flag too?"

Nigel laughed. "Indeed it might! The Jolly Roger, eh? I say, that's a perfectly splendid idea."

And suddenly the sun shone again, and all was right in Roddy's little world.

Then he woke up.

* * *

Group Captain Rodney Crittendon, RAF, opened his eyes with a start and found himself staring at the slats of the bunk above him. The pain of being jerked back to reality was all too familiar, and the overwhelming sense of loss was so acute, he almost cried out.

Gone was the soft summer breeze with the scent of flowers; gone was the green grass of England and the murmurings of the river that meandered past his family home in Cornwall; gone were the three children who frolicked at the river's edge.

All that was left was the bleak reality of prison life, and the fear and uncertainty of a world at war.

His surroundings consisted of bare wood walls, a scratchy and threadbare blanket, and the dim stuffiness of a shuttered building that held fifteen men in captivity. As for his family...Nigel was in Stalag 2, a prisoner of the Jerries just as Rodney was. Kay was at her home in Belham, trying to cope with German bombing raids, food and fuel rationing, and the fear that goes along with having both brothers in POW camps and a son risking his life daily as a fighter pilot.

No, life was not pleasant right now, and the realization of all that he had lost - and all that he might yet lose - caused the sudden burning of tears in Rodney's eyes. He blinked and gulped, and strove to beat back the despair that threatened to engulf him.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin. At least here by himself in the dark he didn't have to keep a stiff upper lip. No one need know that he had doubts and fears like anyone else...fears for himself, his men, his family, his country. Fears that he dare not reveal to the men in his command, or in his letters to home. Fears that he would never, ever reveal to his captors.

At times like this it was difficult to keep one's chin up and carry on. In a few hours he would have to get up and attend roll call, and do his damnedest to help maintain morale in this godforsaken place...amid the lice, the dirt, the rats, and the ruddy Jerries. He would have the men assemble for morning parade, and oversee the calisthenics program for the prisoners. He would listen to his men's concerns, and work with the Senior POW Officer to help improve conditions as best he could.

He would do his duty...of course he would. But, dear God! Doing one's duty day after dreary day was so very hard...

He sighed; hours yet till roll call. He should go back to sleep...to sleep, perchance to dream...

To dream...

Rodney rolled over and stared into the darkness. After his lovely dream just now, reality had come as such a rude shock. He was almost afraid to return to that dream world again.

On the other hand, what harm did dreaming do? One could revisit pleasant scenes of childhood, and experience once again a sense of peace and security...glimpses of past happiness...

But was it worth the inevitable pain of waking up?

Rodney pondered this for a moment, but only for a moment. Yes, of course it was. He smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
